John Must Learn to Knock
by Return My Sanity
Summary: It is summer, and teenage Sherlock Holmes really appreciates Mycroft's new friend, John Watson. Maybe a little too much. What will happen when Mycroft's friends, John among them, come around for a pool party? Awkwardness ensues when Sherock lets his imagination (yeah, that's right) carry away with him. Poor Sherlock. John/Sherlock Mycroft/Lestrade


**This is loosely based on Fast Times at Ridgemont High.**

Sherlock Holmes got out of his car and cracked his back, groaning tiredly. These hours at the library were exhausting, but they were necessary if he was going to get anywhere with his latest experiment. . Laughter coming from the back yard caught his attention and he walked quickly towards the gate. Most likely it was Mycroft and his friends. Sherlock groaned. They were all a bunch of idiots, well, except one. He had no idea how his idiotic brother had managed to acquire the friendship of John Watson (really, they were nothing alike), but Sherlock didn't complain. John Watson was simply the most fascinating person Sherlock had ever met. The boy appeared plain and obvious, but when you got closer to him, you noticed that there were many things hiding beneath the surface.

When John had first started coming around, Sherlock had walked up to him and deduced everything from his bad home life to his desire to become a doctor. John had simply smiled at him and commended him for being so clever. That was the first time Sherlock had ever felt butterflies in his stomach. But it hadn't been the last. As John continued to visit more often, he felt the butterflies multiply and intensify.

And then there was the fact that John was completely gorgeous. So sturdily built, with defined muscles and a smile to die for. How could Sherlock not have fallen in love with him?

If only John didn't insist on keeping a t-shirt on at all times. Sherlock was willing to bet all his experiments that John's chest and shoulders were just as smooth and flawless as the rest of him. He definitely wouldn't mind checking.

Sherlock knew he was grinning foolishly, but there was nothing to be done. All that went away, however, when he opened the gate and stepped into the backyard. Mycroft and John were there, but so were Greg Lestrade and Sally Donovan. Greg was John's best friend and Mycroft had the biggest crush on him (easy to notice). But what the hell was Sally doing here? And why was she so tall and beautiful? Sherlock gritted his teeth. He knew from Mycroft that Sally was interested in John. He could only hope that John didn't have feelings for her as well.

Shit.

None of them had noticed Sherlock yet. John was absorbed in the book he was reading, and Sally was tanning. He saw Greg tackle Mycroft from behind, trying to toss him into the pool. Sherlock could only smirk as he saw his brother turn a delicate shade of red as he tried to wrestle Greg. Mycroft then turned around, and finally noticed Sherlock.

"Why hello, brother dear. You are more than welcome to join us," Mycroft drawled, smirking at his little brother.

"No thanks, brother. I thought mummy said no to us using the pool while she was away, or did it slip your mind?" Sherlock raised and eyebrow in contempt as he moved closer.

Mycroft's smirk didn't waver. "Now now, Sherlock. Is that a threat? Because I'd simply hate for mummy to hear about your hazardous experiments.."

Sherlock looked around at the soda cans and other signs of an impromptu pool party, and said in a low voice ."You don't even like swimming, I bet you did all of this for you precious Greg" Then he glanced over at John in what he hoped was a casual and nonchalant way. "Hello, John."

John lowered his sunglasses a bit and squinted up at him from his lounge chair, smiling brilliantly. "Hey, Sherlock, how's the research coming along?"

Before Sherlock could answer Mycroft interrupted. "Hvis du forteller Greg at jeg er forelsket i ham så forteller jeg John det samme, og det gjør jeg også om du tvinger dem til å dra."

Sherlock blushed and looked down, seeming a bit deflated.

John gaped. "Wait, you two speak Norwegian?"

"Who doesn't?" was all Mycroft said.

Greg looked nervously between Sherlock and Mycroft. "Do we have to leave?"

"Of course not." Sherlock said curtly, after contemplating Mycroft's Norwegian threat.

He turned and walked to the terrace, sliding the door open and stepping into the air conditioned house. He took a deep breath and after only a moment's hesitation went to the small bathroom on the ground floor. Sliding the shade to the side, he looked out at the four by the pool. Mycroft and Greg were in conversation on one side of the shallow end, while John had moved to sit on the edge of the pool, dangling his feet in the water, and Sally was laughing at something John was saying. John kicked water towards Sally before he stood to walk over to the diving board, calf muscles flexing and hips swaying enticingly.

Sherlock leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, feeling himself growing hard. In his mind, he saw John catch his eye and smile that adorable smile.

"Hi, Sherlock. You know how cute I always thought you were," this John said before diving gracefully into the pool.

Sherlock unzipped his jeans and slowly started stroking himself, imagining John surfacing from the water and shaking water from his hair. He rose slowly from the water, wet t-shirt and red trunks clinging wetly to his body and accentuating tone muscles and a sizable bulge at his crotch. John started walking slowly towards him, teasingly licking his lips before pulling his wet shirt off and dropping it to the ground. His pale skin gleamed in the sun, drops of water sparkling in reflection.  
Sherlock moaned and stroked harder and faster as his imagination took over. His imaginary John walked seductively closer and stopped in front of him, biting his lip and looking at him longingly.

"Do you want to kiss me, Sherlock? Because I want to kiss you," John said breathily, long eyelashes fluttering. And because Sherlock most certainly did want to kiss John (it was an excellent starting point, after all), he slid his arms around John's trim waist. His hands slipped effortlessly over cool, wet, bare skin and he grinned when John shivered in response. John's arms wrapped around Sherlock's neck and with no hesitation, their mouths met. Sherlock's lips warmed John's quickly. He pressured John's mouth open with his own to run his tongue over John's bottom lip before slipping into the warm heat of his mouth. Their tongues slid together, gently only for a moment before gaining in passion.

Sherlock tossed his head back and moaned louder. He tightened his hold on his dick, ignoring the slight drag of dry skin as he stroked. He was caught up in his daydream and the sensation of his hand stroking his hard cock, totally oblivious to what was happening outside.

John dove into the water, needing to cool off. The sun was beating down now and he was thankful he had diligently applied sunscreen. Greg and Mycroft were flirting in the shallow part of the pool and Sally had laid across a spread out towel and seemed to be tanning. John swam to the shallow end and got out. He shook his head and frowned. Ugh. He hated getting water in his ears.

"Hey, Mycroft, do you have any q-tips? I need to get this water out," John shook his head again as he climbed out.

Mycroft looked at him distractedly, taking a minute to register his question. "Yes, in the bathroom cabinet. Go on in."

John wrapped his towel around his waist and he padded towards the terrace. He hummed under his breath as he let himself into the house and walked towards the bathroom. The door was not locked, so he thought nothing of pushing it open and walking right in.

Sherlock heard the door open and yelled, "No! Don't come in here!" But it was too late. A shocked John stood in the open doorway, eyes wide as he took in the sight of Sherlock standing there with his purple shirt pulled up, his jeans pushed down around his thighs and his dick in his hand. It was pretty obvious exactly what was going on.

John froze for a moment and then his face flushed nearly as red as his trunks. "Oh, my God! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" he babbled as he quickly backed out and slammed the door. He leaned weakly against the opposite wall before sliding weakly down. He was mortified, yet undeniably intrigued. He would have to talk to Greg later.

Inside the bathroom, Sherlock cursed, "Christ, doesn't anyone ever fucking knock?" He sat weakly on the toilet and wondered if he could just stay in there forever. He was utterly humiliated at being caught masturbating, and by the object of his fantasy, no less. Could it possibly get any worse?


End file.
